Million Years Ago
by And The Moment's Gone
Summary: "I know I'm not the only one, who regrets the things they've done. Sometimes I just feel it's only me who never became who they thought they'd be." My Week 1 contribution to Tumblr's BSBackstory15
1. Part I: The Library

Title: Million Years Ago  
Category: Television Shows» Black Sails  
Author: And The Moment's Gone  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+  
Words: 1,134

Warnings/Spoilers: Written for Tumblr's BSBackstory15. You don't need to know anything.

Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character recognized are NOT mine. The title comes from the Adele song Million Years Ago and I don't own that either.

Summary: Richard Guthrie was not always the man Nassau knew. Once Upon a Time, he loved his wife.

* * *

"What in God's name are those?"

For the third time in a week, Richard Guthrie entered his home to discover crates had been brought up from the morning's cargo ship and deposited in his foyer. He wished he could say that he was surprised, but he truly knew Rebecca better than that. She'd been here for less than a fortnight, after a harrowing journey from Boston to Savannah where she'd taken ship and brought what seemed like half her father's household to New Providence Island. He distinctly remembered asking her to wait until the child was born before traveling, six months ago when he'd first set off to make a name for himself and help 'expand' the family's business here in the islands. He'd hadn't even had warning of her arrival, one day he was working with his man servant to arrange the newly acquired selection of goods from the _Jackdaw_ to be recrated and put on the next ship, and the next he watched as the island came alive at the image of his young –very pregnant- wife being helped out of a shore boat by Edward Teach himself.

He didn't even think to ask how she'd been on shore for less than ten minutes and she'd already charmed a budding pirate lord.

He supposed it had been the same way she had enchanted her way through the multitude of taciturn Guthrie men, and the Boston delegation, and had somehow managed to be an encouraged friend of both Captain John George's wife and the newest Mather bride.

There had been absolutely no wait between him meeting her on the beach, and him having her whisked away to the house on Governor's Island.

But that wasn't the issue now.

No, now he was dealing with the never-ending crates of whatever it is she was receiving from both England and Boston – if the stamps on the crates could be believed.

"Sir?" By his side, as always, Mister Scott pointed to the back of the house, where Rebecca was currently defying the midwife's wishes, bent over one of the smaller crates situated on the desk in the study.

She looked tired, both physically and mentally, but she dictated to the house slave on the other side of the room with cool precision, before lifting – dear God was that another book?

"Rebecca?" He was across the foyer in seconds, coming up to her side and pressing an exasperated kiss against her temple. "Surely your grandmother has better things to do than keep sending you books?"

There was a quick shake of her head, and she read the last title for the slave to check off his list. "My child will be well read." She argued, not even bothering to appear humbled by his displeasure. She loved her husband and adored his ambitions. But neither could deny the fact that without this marriage, without her family's money and the connections that they afforded him, he would still be back in Boston begging for a seat in his father's businesses. "And unfortunately, a library is something this considerable house you have procured sorely lacks." With a wave of her hand, she gestured to the half-filled shelves with a frown. "If it weren't for Scott's reports, I would have been both unable to make the proper arrangements to have that remedied before I left, and been extremely cross with you when I arrived."

"And we all know that we can't have that." Richard threaded his arms around his wife's shoulders again and buried his nose in her hair. There was almost a full eight-year difference between him and the woman in his arms, and he had to admit, strong-willed and independent as she was, he forgot that fact way too often.

God help him if she was right, and the child in her womb was a girl.

God help Nassau.

He considered his options carefully, thankful that Mister Scott had not taken his leave and was still standing guard at the door. They weren't expecting the next prize to come in for another day or two, so neither were needed at the warehouse this afternoon, and both Noonan and Mistress Bowan were in position should something be needed at the tavern or inn. He'd have to remember to talk to Trott about the taxes on the brothel in the morning.

It was that thought that led him around to the answer to his predicament. Kissing Rebecca on the temple again, he allowed a hand to run down her side and rest on top of hers on her belly. "If you refuse to cease in your organization, at least take a respite," he demanded carefully, nodding to the door. "I have some papers that I need to go over, but I'm sure Mister Scott could take over uncrating your treasures and seeing them put in their proper places while you take some rest." When Rebecca opened her mouth – presumably to argue – Richard shushed her with a glance. "The midwife said you shouldn't overtax yourself, darling," he reminded her with a smile. "And Scott is probably looking for an excuse to check out the books anyway."

It was Rebecca who had insisted on hiring educated servants. Not only for their value and the additional services that such a thing could provide, but because she knew what their business would entail and the time that she would be working closely with all of them. They acquired Scott shortly after they were married, visiting her aunt in Jamestown. He had been her uncle's foreman on the farm, learning his numbers and the written word in order to be more helpful during the ailing man's more advanced years. Her uncle's son – a vile little man that Rebecca had never cared for – deemed Mister Scott a conniver and was terrified a learned slave was a dangerous man. Her aunt had insisted that he was a wedding present, and the only recompense she required was their assistance in her returning to her brother's home in Boston.

She fully understood that she had indulged the slave's pursuit to better himself, acquiring early reading volumes, and spending hours while Richard was with his father and brother's preparing for the journey helping him expand both his felicity for numbers and words.

It might be why she had no problem acquiescing to her husband's not so subtle demand that day. "Only if you promise me lemonade in the gardens before dinner." Her smile was bright, not at all guarded, as she used him to balance on while she pulled herself up from her perch on the desk.

"You drive a very hard bargain, my dear." Richard motioned for the maid who seemed to be hiding in plain sight – waiting patiently until her mistress needed her – to go ahead and make the arrangements for Mrs. Guthrie to take her rest in the gardens, while he escorted her from the room.


	2. Part II: The Return

Title: Million Years Ago  
Category: Television Shows» Black Sails  
Author: And The Moment's Gone  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+  
Words: 2,747

Warnings/Spoilers: Written for Tumblr's BSBackstory15. You don't need to know anything.

Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character recognized are NOT mine. The title comes from the Adele song Million Years Ago and I don't own that either.

Summary: Eleanor's childhood focused solely around a man who wasn't there. Until he was.

* * *

Seventeen years later, the room seemed to be in the exact same position. Only, Eleanor supposed, with decidedly fewer crates. It still amazed her every time she found herself in her father's house that this room was one of the only untouched by the tragedy that her family – and by extension this house - had seen over the years. Most of the damage to the front of the house during the raid had been repaired over the years, the paint repaired, and the actual structure of the house still intact.

At the tender age of six, with no mother, and virtually no father, she had been sent away from the only home she'd ever known to live with the former governor Nicholas Trott and what was left of his household in Nassau proper, closer to the bay. It had been no secret that Richard Guthrie had not taken the death of his wife well. And while drinking and whoring and leaving Mister Scott to run both the Guthrie shipping and the Nassau fencing operation were acceptable ways to show grief, it was no place for a little girl. When her father quit the island a year later, the house had been more or less abandoned. Mister Scott had acquired anything that she had asked for from it, and soon her father's man realized that there was more than one reason why little Miss Guthrie had been left behind.

He'd petitioned the Mister Trott for permission to seek an education for the girl. A tutor had been sent shortly after Richard had reached England, but every afternoon the girl was allowed to come down to the warehouse or the tavern, where Scott would challenge her himself, only pushing as far as she would allow because that was what her mother would have asked of him.

Eleanor smiled as she selected one of her mother's tomes to take with her back down to the inn. Everything of monetary value that had made it through the raids had been locked away ages ago, and any looter that might consider her father's house a substantial mark would certainly be disappointed. But this room had remained untouched by her father, and she couldn't bear to crate up what was left of her mother and try to forget her as Richard seemed to have done. So instead she came up here weekly, exchanged whatever book she had managed to find time to devour, and bask in the presence of a woman who was now little more than a face in her mind's eye.

She trailed her fingers in the dust on her mother's portable writing desk, saving a small smile for the small pile of books that always sat untouched on the corner of the table – her mother's favorites, to be read only when she needed to feel loved – and quit the room, pulling the door shut behind her. The book was tucked safely in her saddlebag, and she was racing back to the beach before anyone could realize that she was gone.

She had just sat down to dinner – at the bar of the tavern so she could take account of which ships were hunting, and which had returned but hadn't come to her to announce their prize yet – when there was a buzz from the doorway, and a sailor she didn't recognize was pointing at her while whispering to his companions.

Not for the first time she wished that the _Ranger_ wasn't out on the sea. Her nerves were frayed from the lack of news from her father this month, and with the numbers from the _Walrus_ down from where they should be for the second take in a row, and Charles gone she discovered that she had little patience for gossips and the jeering of the men today. Taking a deep breath, and a swill of the ale in her mug, she waved one of the serving girls over.

"I'm taking this into my office before I stab someone and ruin business for the night." It wasn't the first time that she had expressed this sentiment, and the girl – Abby was it? Or maybe Sally – nodded with a soft smile. "Your tip will be larger tonight if you can find out what the fuck is going on over there so I know which ship to put on notice."

The girl gave her a soft 'yes miss Guthrie' before grabbing a pitcher, refilling Eleanor's mug, and sauntering over to the table indicated.

She had just tucked herself in her office; a copy of the days takes in one hand and her bread in the other when Mister Scott entered. It was a common occurrence, they kept no real secrets, and she found that he didn't startle her as much as others announced presences were known to.

The look on his face gave her pause, though; as did the fact that he closed the door firmly, and checked the doors to the balcony before he stepped to the desk. "Eleanor," his voice was tight, his face stretched thin. "Richard Guthrie has returned to Nassau."

"No." When she finally found it, Eleanor's voice was strong. "I was just at the house this afternoon." She knew the look was coming, even if she hadn't been looking at him she could still describe the clenched jaw of silent disapproval that Scott seemed to reserve only for her. "Don't you dare start." Her chair and dinner abandoned, Eleanor opened the double doors to the balcony and took a deep breath of the night air. "You were counting the take from the _Lion_ and I needed a new book."

Scott heard what hadn't been said. She'd been a week without Charles Vane, a week without the kind of sustenance that someone in her position couldn't get from just anyone. And the longer that the _Ranger_ hunted their prize, nursed their wounds, or did whatever it was that was keeping them away for so long, the more time she had to think of all the reasons why he wouldn't return.

Eleanor was almost too far in, and Scott didn't know if she knew it.

He gave her a moment to give her more excuses as to why she had found her way to the Guthrie Estate unescorted. While he was needed at the warehouse when she wasn't, he could have at least spared a man to ensure her safety. When none came, he dropped himself into the chair on the other side of her desk. "The supply ship is in a week early, and your father, half a household, and at least two guests were seen unloading from his private dock." Eleanor accepted all of this information with little more than a nod, and now it was Scott's turn to wish that someone who was not on the island could return, swiftly. "I have already made inquiries from the staff that will be needed to help prepare the house as to the nature of his visit." No response. "I have also begun to prepare the warehouses and the books for his inspection in the event that his visit is," he paused, trying to watch her face and not all at the same time. "Permanent."

" _Fuck me_."

"Eleanor."

"No." She turned finally, face like stone and her entire body stiff. She was the face of Guthrie Shipping on the beach, and she'd been quiet long enough. "He disappears for _eight fucking years_ and then just sails into the harbor like nothing happened? And I'm supposed to – what?" She turned then, arms flailing in a way that made Scott check to make sure that the door leading to the tavern had been closed firmly. While the pirates throughout the whole of the island would most likely feel her displeasure, it wouldn't do to have the merchants see a rift between father and daughter. "Just hand over the business that you and I have spent _years_ cultivating?"

"You haven't even met with him yet." Scott didn't want to tell her that her father had no interest in their fencing operations. He hadn't so much as inquired about the warehouses or their coffers in the years since Eleanor took over the business. Richard Guthrie would request control back, that was true, but of the legitimate business.

He didn't stop to think of what the beach would say if he asked for both, which was something that he supposed that Richard had heard already.

"He hasn't formally announced his presence, Eleanor." Caution wouldn't calm her nerves, or comfort a mind too conditioned to think of their opponent's next step, ever guarded as to stay two steps ahead of anyone against her. She'd been brought up in a man's world, taught to keep herself on her own two feet. It was a shame he had no other way to go. "The best we can do is prepare for the worst and go from there."

Eleanor said nothing.

Instead, she kept her head down, turning back to the balcony and pulling her arms in tight to her body, her hands hugging her elbows. She took a deep breath of the night air, allowing the scent of the waves to calm her frayed nerves.

Her father had always been somewhat of a mystery to her. With so many years without his presence, Eleanor knew him by face only, and that was only from a smoke-tattered painting of her parents at least a year or two older than she was. Would he still look the same? She doubted his smile was as free. Eleanor's only good memory of the man was the day before he quit the island, informing her with a stiff hug that he was leaving, and that Mister Trott and Mister Scott were to be taking care of her now, and she was to be on her best behavior. It was rigid and formal, and he didn't even refer to her by name, instead calling her 'the child' and offering the former governor whatever monetary compensation he needed while Guthrie was away.

Eleanor hadn't even been told why he'd gone to England instead of Boston, where his own family resided.

When he wrote, which was considerable all things considered, Richard Guthrie's letters came to the former governor and Mister Scott. Nothing for her. Ever. Even after she had been raised to junior partner – a term that Mister Scott lovingly harassed her with for years before she was allowed to sit at the desk in the tavern and actually meet with captains at the warehouse – she received secondhand information from the missives that Scott thought she should read. Her father only thought of her in passing, inquiring as to her education, her suitability as a bride.

She didn't bother asking Scott what kind of responses he sent back.

And now he was back.

The man she had tried so hard to ignore, just as he had ignored her. The man that the whole island thought that she was trying to impress.

And he had the ability to take away from her everything that she had built in his absence.

As if he could read her mood from her posture, Mister Scott let himself out of the office, pulling the door closed firmly behind him.

He'd let Eleanor face her demons alone tonight.


	3. Part III: Aut viam inveniam aut faciam

Title: Million Years Ago  
Category: Television Shows» Black Sails  
Author: And The Moment's Gone  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+  
Words: 3,375

Warnings/Spoilers: Written for Tumblr's BSBackstory15. You don't need to know anything.

Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character recognized are NOT mine. The title comes from the Adele song Million Years Ago and I don't own that either.

Summary: There was only a handful of people who could claim to have been closest to Eleanor Guthrie; both figuratively and literally. Two. There were only two.

* * *

They had both been expecting the summons. The fact that it was sent to Mister Scott at the warehouse, rather than Eleanor didn't come as a shock to either one of them, either. While he had seemed to accept it in silence, Richard had never been happy with the fact that Eleanor had taken his place. Or that Mister Scott had let her.

The note had informed them that Richard Guthrie was entertaining a Mister Christopher Hammond, the son of one of their merchant distributors, and a Mistress Molly Baker – her connection hadn't been offered, although Eleanor could guess that she was the one 'entertaining' her father – and they were to attend dinner with them the next night.

It wasn't a request.

And to say that Eleanor hadn't responded well was a bit of an understatement.

Her office was now a mess, papers strewn about, and a brand new bottle of brandy soaking into the floor. Mister Scott had saved what couldn't be recalculated and then decided that the mess could be left for another day. With Eleanor missing, he would be needed on the tavern floor tonight, whether he was in the mood for it or not.

He had a solid four hours of the usual rabble before the doors slammed open, the night revealing the amorous crew of the _Ranger_ , their captain and quartermaster trailing in not too long after.

"She is not meeting with anyone tonight."

The breath that Captain Vane exasperated reverberated throughout the room. He'd been turned away at the door countless times in the last few years, somewhat considerably less in recent months.

The _Ranger_ had made the bay later than they had originally planned. After that, it had taken him far more time than he wanted to admit to, to get the few wounded off the ship and take stock. Their prize was considerable, and he was looking forward to a warm bed – and the body in it – before leading the men in emptying the hold and collecting the coin and Guthrie credit that went with it.

Mister Scott didn't flinch.

"I've been out hunting, Mister Scott." He turned slightly, as if a conversation with Eleanor Guthrie's right-hand man had been his intention all along. It certainly looked better to those in the tavern than him being rejected by Eleanor and denied her chambers. "I'm not up on current island gossip."

There was a nod, and Vane wasn't sure if it was toward him or the door. "Richard Guthrie returned to the island the night before last." Scott swept an eye over the crowd of the tavern. While there weren't many faces that he didn't recognize in the crowd, there was no telling who, if anyone, had recently begun work for Richard Guthrie. He was determined not to give them new information to use against his charge. "Miss Guthrie and I have received a dinner summons for tomorrow night."

Vane didn't need to ask for clarification this time. Being one of the only people alive closest to Eleanor Guthrie, sometimes both figuratively and literally, he didn't need to be told that her head was nowhere where it needed to be for their usual business when he returned.

He didn't have time to acknowledge that that thought didn't bother him as much as it probably should.

"She's not in her office, is she?"

Vane's hand fiddled with the hilt of the sword at this hip. Scott was almost impressed that he hadn't needed to be told the answer to that. "She disappeared sometime before your crew ascended the hill," he told the pirate carefully.

Which meant that Eleanor had been missing for at least the better part of the evening, and Scott hadn't wanted to raise the alarm for fear or Richard Guthrie seeing that as an admission that she was unfit for anything that she might hope to keep. Not for the first time since he'd taken Eleanor Guthrie to his bed did he wish that he had just sated his desire for her in the brothel and been done with it. He could have fucked her out of her system in the early months.

Now Charles Vane was trying not to be worried about the fact that she was unescorted on an island full of men that either wanted to fuck her or kill her, depending on the day of the week and their fortunes.

He really didn't need this right now.

It truly was a shame that after the hunt he'd just had, he needed her.

As if suddenly discerning his captain's mood, Jack's head lifted, eyeing the pair from over Anne's shoulder at the card table he was perched at. Vane's jaw as clenched, his eyes clouded even as he scanned the room. When Vane's eyes met his quartermasters across the room, his jaw clenched, a decision made. "Would you be so kind as to give me a bottle of Miss Guthrie's private reserve?"

Scott opened the door to the office long enough to grab a bottle off the shelf to the left of the door. Eleanor kept the good stuff in plain sight; it was so much harder to see that way. He'd gladly sacrifice the liquor if it meant that Eleanor would be found and kept safe. "I'd appreciate the bottle back," he said carefully, leaning close. "And perhaps your tent would be the best place for you to find yourself at the end of the night."

"With, or without company?" Charles understood the reference. With Richard Guthrie's men now floating around the island, it was hard to tell who had eyes where anymore. And he could say what he wanted about his men; they understood that what happened in the Captain's tent was the Captain's business. "I don't believe I have anything in my tent in her size," it was his parting remark, and he patted Jack on the shoulder, pausing to briefly whisper that the men would need to be on their guard for the next few days, on his way out the door.

He found her a few hours later, curled up in the tall grass of the beach on the far side of the camps. It was the last place he looked, granted it probably shouldn't have been. When Scott had admitted to him that Eleanor was missing, there really was only one place she could have been.

Charles stepped purposely on a shell about two feet from her as not to startle, and then dropped his bottle of rum to the left of her hips before sliding down into the sand behind her.

They didn't speak.

After almost a year and a half in each other's beds – and heads – he knew that poking and prodding would do nothing but leave them both wildly unsatisfied. They were the same, she and him, and whether she would admit it or not, their temperaments were likewise. Instead, they breathed as one for a few long minutes.

She didn't bother to question whether or not he knew what was on her mind. Charles wouldn't be out here if he hadn't found mister Scott first. Then again, it had been a very long week.

"He wants the businesses."

Eleanor had thought nothing but that one line since running from the tavern. Richard Guthrie's return, the dinner, the business associates; it all lead to the sobering thought that this was the beginning of a takeover, and Richard was more or less leaving it up to her whether it was hostile or not.

Charles nodded against her shoulder.

"He's going to take it all, and there's nothing I can do." Air left her lungs in a rush as he pulled her back flush to him, his arm sliding around her shoulder and her hand instinctually coming up to grab for his. "Charles."

His name was met with a kiss, and he allowed her to dictate the speed of it. Charles knew what she needed, and he knew how to get it for her. But he also knew that Eleanor wouldn't accept anything that she wasn't able to earn herself. So instead he gave her a moment when her thoughts couldn't connect, and her mind was silent.

" _Aut viam inveniam aut faciam_." He offered her when they broke for air, his eyes flashing to the beach.

Her laugh was incredulous, and Charles kissed her again to allow the words time to seep in. " _You_ speak Latin?"

"Only a little." Off her look, he sighed. "Teach used it when making a point."

"Sounds…" Eleanor couldn't help the smile at the thought of young recently savage Charles Vane being subjected to lessons on control and piracy; in Latin. "Interesting."

Any frustration and sadness that she had held earlier had fled her voice, and Charles used her distraction to run his thumbs over her cheekbones. His smile came quicker than it would have in many other circumstances. "It was horrifying," he admitted.

"I can imagine." Was that a giggle? Was Eleanor Guthrie laughing at him? She shifted her hips as she turned, and he found he didn't really care. His own knee dropped further to allow her to nestle herself closer to his chest, her head resting on his clavicle. "When I was ten," she said moments later, "My father sent me a language tutor."

It went without saying that Richard Guthrie had apparently not believed Mister Scott when he wrote that his nine-year-old daughter was almost fluent in not only the King's English, but in both Spanish and French as well. The newest tutor had arrived on the island with one of the Guthrie stock ships, unannounced and with a letter of introduction that more or less said that Mister Scott was to allow him to evaluate and teach Eleanor in whatever way he deemed fit in order to make her fit for English society when she came of age. He didn't seem to notice, or care, that no one seemed to like him or his treatment of Miss Guthrie one bit. Charles had never met or even seen the man. It was highly likely that this man was driven from the island if not shortly before he started dealing with Eleanor in business, or shortly thereafter.

"He was a pomp of a man." A quick huff of air from her back told her that Charles had more or less decided that on his own. "And he always seemed to be forgetting that – like it or not – I was Richard Guthrie's heir, and Mister Scott his agent." She shook her head a little, smiling at the memory of the sheer aggravation she used to put Mister Wiltshire through. "He used to tell me all the time that it was a was a waste of time to teach a 'future merchant's wife' the language of scholars." Another huff and she tilted her head slightly so she could kiss the stubble on his jaw. "He said that just as often as the phrase ' _subsiste sermonem statim.'"_

Neither spoke for a moment. Charles ran the phrase through his head slowly. "I don't think I'm familiar with that one."

Her smile was sweet as she kissed his jaw again. "That's because, aboard the _Ranger_ , it would sound a little closer to 'shut the fuck up now.'" It was his turn to laugh, bringing his chin down so his mouth was closer to her ear. He was about to make a comment about her opinion of his crew, and their lack of civility. She could feel it in his posture and the way one hand dropped down to her hip, to restrain her if she decided to argue. The hand resting on his forearm moved smoothly up to his shoulder, and she quirked her lips. "I've come to learn that pirates are extremely succinct by nature." She amended before he had a chance to open his mouth. "You waste neither sentiment nor words."

Charles nodded his agreement, enjoying the scent of the lavender of her soap – her one true indulgence save himself – mix with the salt from the sea. His two favorite things mixed together in this very moment.

If he could have offered her his protection, the safety of his name and his crew, and know that she would accept it. If he could find a way to voice that he would take care of her if her father abandoned her…

But those were words for people who weren't Captain Charles Vane and Mistress Eleanor Guthrie.

So instead he dropped a kiss to the place where her jaw met her ear and smiled into her skin. "So I say again: _aut viam inveniam aut faciam._ "

"Either find a way or make one." She didn't turn to allow her questioning gaze to force the answer from him. He had given her this much, she could do the rest.

"You're already halfway there," he gestured to the beach and bay, paying particular attention to pointing to the sign at the top of the booth she used to collect prizes. Her father's name may be what brought pirates to the island to fence their goods, but it was Eleanor, with her attitude and persistence, that kept them coming back. It was actually very likely that if her father walked the beach first thing in the morning, there wouldn't be more than a handful of people that recognized him. "He can't take everything from you."

"He can take enough."

Charles physically turned her around to face him now, pulling his knees together so she could straddle them comfortably. He had to keep one eye on the beach in this position, after all, for all he knew her father's spies could be out looking for her the same as he was, but it was worth it to feel her slide in closer, her hand sliding up to toy with his earring as she waited for him to make his point.

"The beach is yours, Eleanor," he told her without preamble. And it was true. As long as he was on it, the beach – and its Captains – would be hers. She'd made the contacts; she had the connections and the spies to hand out leads on prizes that were both exciting and profitable. There was absolutely no reason why she should just hand that over to her father. "Show him how much it's going to cost him to take it back."

"And the street?" She hated that his mind was working so much faster than hers at the moment, that the mention of her father had clouded her judgment and rattled her nerves. "They go where the money is."

Charles's kiss was soft, but not sweet, and he angled her body back as he plundered her mouth. "What's the difference between the amount your father makes from the interior a month and what he brings in from the beach?"

It wasn't supposed to be a leading question. Charles was actually kind of curious as to which side of the island was more profitable.

But apparently that had been the right thing to say just then, because Eleanor's hands were pulling his shirt from his trousers, lifting up just so to entangle his mouth in another kiss. "Thank you," she breathed as his hands came up to cup her ass, both to pull her closer and to control her direction. He couldn't lose his head on the beach tonight.

"Not here." Shifting Eleanor slightly, Charles stood, setting her back on her feet. He bent to retrieve the untouched bottle of liquor, and then wrapped his arm around her. There was the mark of confusion on her brow, although they'd always been discrete, Charles had never really cared on where they were when the mood struck him.

"You getting self-conscious on me now, Captain Vane?"

She was laughing at him again, but since they were on their way to his tent – where for once Mister Scott wasn't going to be sending someone to collect her in the middle of the night – he wasn't too inclined to care. "I wouldn't go that far." Using his free hand, he grasped her hip, pulling her flush against his body. "I'd fuck you on the counter in the tavern in the middle of dinner if you'd let me." He nipped at her ear after he growled into it, and the little tension that was left faded from her. Had circumstances been different, had her father not picked this week to resurface, she might have actually allowed him to try. "But Mister Scott advised against you and I returning to your rooms at the tavern together until this mess with your father's been resolved." Charles felt her body tense for a moment, sliding his hand to the small of her back. "So tonight you and I will just have to make due with my bed."

There was a specific kind of thrill about receiving 'permission' to spend the night wherever she wanted. Eleanor hadn't been allowed to spend the entirety of a night in the _Ranger_ camp in at least a year, Mister Scott saying that he didn't believe it good for her reputation or her person to be seen walking the beach so early in the morning. She hated the fact that it was only to keep their – whatever it was that she and Vane were to each other and by extension her proclivities – a more closely guarded secret was the reason for Scott's change of thought.

As if he could just hear her fracturing again, Charles handed her the bottle and then used both hands to direct her hips, falling in step behind her. Hips lips anchored themselves to the top of her spine for a fraction of a second, teeth nipping slightly, There was a pause, and Eleanor had to remind herself that this bottle had come from her office and that if things turned sour with her father there may not actually be more, in order to force herself to keep a steady hold as Charles lined her bottom up with his erection.

"You're thinking too much again." He reminded her carefully, keeping one eye on the tents in front of them since she obviously wasn't. The sidestepped one anchor line, and he pulled her around another, hands and lips providing a distinct distraction until they came to the bulk of canvas with his ships banner planted in the center. He sent her into his tent first, with a kiss and a swat to her ass, before taking the necessary steps over to the oversized canvas that served his Quartermaster.

"Miss Guthrie's man sent a bag down with me." Jack whispered the second the flap opened, and Charles had to wonder how it was that he knew who it was, and why he wasn't concerned with waking the naked redhead laying half on top of him. "I assume she's spending the evening with us?"

"Put the men on alert." Charles didn't have to tell him why. It was one of the perks of being captain. Well, that and the fact that the tavern was probably buzzing with the news of Richard Guthrie's return and Jack wasn't a stupid man. "And I'll need someone to escort Miss Guthrie to the warehouse in the morning."

Jack did his best impression of a bowing courtier from his half covered seated position. "Wake me." He offered quickly. Discretion was the better part of valor after all. And not only would volunteering mean that he wouldn't have to listen to any of the men bitch about the fact that they'd been 'chosen,' but he wouldn't have to worry about the poor sod getting beaten – or beached – for harassing their captains lover on the way.

There was a split second when he wondered if he should try to convince Anne to accompany him.

He was already fairly accustomed to her bitching, he supposed.

"It won't be early." There was none of the self-satisfied swagger in Vane's words, which meant that Jack would have to stick close to the captain – and remain sober – until whatever it was that happening with the politics of Nassau was resolved.

Well wasn't _that_ just lovely.

"Can the rest of your orders wait until after we've both been thoroughly fucked a few more times?" His lip twitched, more for the fact that he could feel Anne's breath quicken on his thigh, and her waking up this time of night only really meant one thing for him.

With a roll of his eyes, and a quick 'fuck you,' Charles retired to his own tent.


	4. Part IV: Stolen Memories

Title: Million Years Ago  
Category: Television Shows» Black Sails  
Author: And The Moment's Gone  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+  
Words: 2,747  
Warnings/Spoilers: Written for Tumblr's BSBackstory15. You don't need to know anything.

Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character recognized are NOT mine. The title comes from the Adele song Million Years Ago and I don't own that either.

Summary: Can you cherish a possession that was never really yours? Can you keep it safe?

* * *

The only part of dinner that hadn't been a disaster so far was the food.

Eleanor didn't have to look across the table to Mister Scott to see that he thought so as well.

They had arrived at the original designated time, both dressed in their best clothes and had been forced to endure introductions in the garden while the house set the dining room for dinner. Eleanor had to admit that part hadn't been so bad. Mister Hammond had been the consummate gentleman, which Eleanor had to admit set her on edge more than anything else, she did spend the bulk of her time with pirates after all. And Miss Baker – who she needed no further proof than to look at the girl, then know that she had been correct about her original assessment of the woman – was admittedly less vapid than she had speculated. The girl was young, though; in the way that Eleanor was almost certain that she was not even a year older than herself. She also seemed to have absolutely no idea what it was that Richard's business was on Nassau. Governor's island wasn't truly separate from the island, but she was glad all the same that whatever business Miss Baker was in, she wouldn't be asserting herself in Eleanor's anytime soon.

She was also pleasantly surprised at the lack of novelty at the fact that Mister Scott was treated as retainer, not slave. She'd almost forgotten that in spite of the colonies, and the British Isles, slavery was frowned upon in the 'civilized world.' No matter what came of this night, she could at least be thankful that her father was willing to reinforce Mister Scott's equality at his table.

Then again, this was the man who had raised her.

It was equally likely that Richard Guthrie could be submitting this civility in order to gain Eleanor's confidence.

And then dinner was served.

There had been no talk of actual business. Her father had made a few vague references to the warehouses, and the fact that all of the ships in the bay looked well – she bit her tongue to keep from pointing out that Lilywhite wasn't about to outrun any riggers if he didn't get his men to clean his hull, and Naft's takes had been getting smaller and smaller by the month. These were pieces of information that she would have to hold on to in order to maintain her the upper hand.

A glance to Scott told her that he was in agreement.

Then came the small talk.

And if Molly Baker didn't stop talking about replacing the drapes in the foyer, Eleanor was going to slit somebody's throat.

"Your father has promised me that if I'm not too tired tomorrow, I can meet a real pirate tomorrow."

Eleanor had to stop her eyes from bugging as she turned back to her father. "A _real_ pirate?" She asked with a hint of irony in her tone. Across from her, Mister Scott smiled into his goblet. When Richard offered her a less than comforting smile, Eleanor turned back to his mistress. "The island is just teeming with them," she whispered as conspiratorially as possible, both teasing and bitter at the same time.

"Eleanor," Richard wasn't used to warning his daughter. He made a note to talk to Scott about what ways worked best.

"Which pirate were you planning on introducing her to?"

That was a challenge if anyone saw it.

It wasn't enough that Richard had returned to the island, or that he had specifically not mentioned business since she and Scott arrived. If he were planning on taking back the beach from her, he would have to know who still camped there, and which men were not only the most profitable but also where their allegiances lie.

"I saw the _Trinity_ in the bay on our way in," Richard took a sip of wine and returned to his plate. "It's been a while since I've seen Sharp."

"They're going hunting at first light." Eleanor had the added benefit of not lying to her father. Sharp had been in her office two days ago receiving a tip that would send him in the direction of Savannah in the morning. She'd also assisted him in acquiring supplies to restock just yesterday while his men were careening the ship.

Richard took that bit of information with a practiced smile, nodding at her in what could be misconstrued as a thankful manner. "There's always Teach." When Richard had quit the island, Edward had been well on his way to becoming notorious. He was certainly well known in London. He looked down the table at Molly and Mister Hammond and smiled. "How would you like to meet Blackbeard?"

"Who hasn't been seen on Nassau in at least three years." The last time she was able to make the acquaintance with Captain Teach, he had just restocked the _Revenge_ and relieved Hornigold of his prized sloop, handing it – along with 60 men from the Man-O-War and a hefty sum of his own credit with the Guthrie Warehouse – to his first mate. While Scott had been skeptical at first, pirates gaining ships and losing them – this was neither the first nor the last – the _Ranger_ changing hands had certainly been a different kind of transition. Some could even say that it had been for the best. And an annoyed Hornigold had commandeered a square-rigger and the fort sometime soon after and managed a decent haul while protecting the Guthrie interest.

She tilted her head to the side expertly. Surely her father would have heard that gossip.

Mister Scott's eyes were warning as she allowed a slow smile to play on her features. He knew where her mind was going, and introducing that thought to her father may not be her safest course of action that day.

"His first mate made land last night." She offered casually, reaching for her wine. She could feel the heat of Scott's gaze, and shook her head ever so slightly. Eleanor knew what she stood to lose if she played this wrong. "He's captain of the _Ranger_ now, and an exceptional earner." When Molly seemed to perk up, Eleanor dropped her smile slightly. "Have you heard of Charles Vane in England?"

At Molly's excited gasp, Richard understood that he was about to have to admit that he had never made the acquaintance of Teach's protégé. Which meant that in order to make good on his promise, he would have to allow Eleanor to make the introductions.

 _Either find a way or make one._

Eleanor's lip twitched as she picked up her own goblet.

Christopher Hammond leaning forward in his chair, elbows on the table, saved him from the charge. "Are you in the familiarity of many pirates Miss Guthrie?" He asked slowly.

 _Not nearly as I am in the familiarity of Charles Vane_ , she almost admitted, before thinking better of it. Her father would find out her involvement there soon enough. Flaunting it in front of a man that Richard was probably planning on trying to marry her off to would end badly for her. "My business forces me to interact with the beach quite a bit." She changed tactics then, confusing both her father and Mister Scott. She thought of her day-to-day and smiled. "The Captains are rugged, which is probably putting it lightly," Molly nodded along with her, completely enthralled. "But most understand business, and the concept of civility, which makes Nassau not that different than many other colonies."

Mister Hammond nodded as well, smiling back at her.

"That doesn't mean the beach isn't dangerous." Richard cautioned his daughter and mistress with a comforting nod. "This is a far cry from Charles Towne, or the northern colonies. If I take you down to Nassau proper, you aren't going past the square, and nowhere near the beach."

"I think you'll find the bay a different place than you last left it." It was Mister Scott's turn to speak, and he too turned to Miss Baker. "And the Guthrie name carries more weight there than it used to."

There was a cough when Eleanor refrained from telling them that she often walked the streets and camps unmolested.

Mister Scott's eyebrow rose when he mentally added that the fact that she also had the protection of Captain Vane to account for that.

Eleanor rolled her eyes.

Then something hit her.

"Too tired?" She set the goblet down and turned more fully to the other lady at the table. "What has you working so hard? You only just got here."

Molly's laugh was tense. "You've _seen_ the state of this place." She waved a hand around the room as if the curtainless room and lack of art proved her point. "Half the place is barren, and the décor in the other rooms is _tremendously_ outdated." The sound of her voice rubbed Eleanor in a way that she could not name. "Just this morning I was redesigning the lady's parlor." She smiled and gestured somewhere behind her. "Had the ship not left tonight, I would have set fire to half the furniture myself. Dreadful stuff."

"Lady's parlor?" There had never been a lady's parlor in this house in her entire life. The only room that could be considered such had been her mother's library.

Her blood ran cold and her eyes wildly sought out her father's.

He couldn't have done it.

 _Please God_ , don't let him have done it.

"You mean the library." She offered carefully.

"There is absolutely no reason for a lady to need so many books." Molly took a bite of her bread and smiled absently. "And there wasn't a single current romantic in sight."

"Are you fucking with me?"

Mister Scott didn't bother with the admonishment this time. It wouldn't have done any good, and he most likely wouldn't have been heard over the sound of Molly Baker's gasp and her father's rebuke.

"Now is not the time." Richard looked pointedly around the table, hoping that she would remember decorum. He'd left her with the most prestigious family in Nassau – even though they'd long since fled the island now – and he had been assured that her manners were impeccable when the occasion called for it. "Elean-"

"You shipped _everything_?" She was on her feet in seconds, dropping her napkin to the seat as she raced from the room. While Molly and Mister Hammond chose to remain seated, Scott was up and on her tail in a heartbeat, her father trailing behind. "Mother's books!" The door to the study was flung open. "The memories."

The room was empty.

"Her paintings, her journals." She whirled on her father then, hands clenched into fists. If he were any other man, any other situation even, she would have struck him already. Richard would have said that she had spent too much time with pirates. "All gone."

"Your mother has been dead for almost twelve years." He tried to explain. "And this house has sat vacant for a decade. Anything of hers you wanted, you would have taken by now." There was a brief moment when he thought to remind her that Rebecca's jewelry was most certainly not where he had left it. "It was time to let the rest go."

"Let the rest-" Her voice caught, and she desperately wished that the whore in the dining room had thought to at least leave her mother's desk chair in the room. "Fuck you!" The words left her mouth before she could think to hold them back. " _Fuck. You_." There was a gasp, and she wished with everything she had that it hadn't come from her.

Eleanor couldn't breathe.

She couldn't think.

Bringing a fist up to her lips, she bit her knuckle in hopes to keep the tears in check. Her father had been on the island for three days, and he'd managed to rip her world out from under her. She knew the business would be next. And she would be married off to whatever pompous ass that would have her.

"Eleanor," Richard reached for his daughter now. Whether to comfort or control, none of them knew. "It –"

She snapped again, smacking his hand from its trajectory and pushing past him on the way to the door. Her vision was spiraling now, her motions jerky.

She needed air.

* * *

Camp was entirely too quiet in Jack's opinion.

The men were scattered between tents, the tavern and the brothel, fires burning low and their share of the prize most likely spent. Hell, even Anne had done her share of unloading, stood by the Captain as he signed the Guthrie log and then headed to the tavern for a drink.

If it wasn't for Charles's mood, and the fact that he had practically whipped a poor deckhand for slacking when restocking powder and loading supplies, and therefore obviously needed a chaperone until he was no longer a raging psychotic, Rackham would be up there with her, getting obscenely drunk until she decided that she needed a long luxurious fuck before passing out.

But then that would have meant that he would have missed what would come next.

There weren't horses on the beach.

It was a simple fact of logistics and room really. Too many tents, not enough room to roam. It simply wasn't allowed. So watching one come barreling down the path, completely oblivious to the fact that it had left the street behind it by feet, was something that Jack couldn't say he experienced before.

And he had to admit it as more than damn scary when it happened.

He hadn't even thought to look for a rider until it stopped a few feet from the edge of camp. Eleanor Guthrie dismounted quickly and without the care that she probably should have. There was half a second when he thought to give her the customary, mocking bow that he always seemed to find for her.

Then physically stopped when he saw her eyes. He took a step back when her hands shook.

"Is he in there?"

There was no clarification as to whom she was speaking. They really didn't need any. There was only one reason as to why she would be in the middle of the _Ranger_ camp, although her visits were usually reserved for later in the night.

Suddenly Vane's mood made more sense.

"I'll see your horse back to the warehouse." He decided after a moment, finally giving her the bow. "Just- try not to break anything."

"Fuck you, Jack."

She was gone before he could respond.

There wasn't a gun waiting for her when she pushed her way through the flaps of his tent, There wasn't even surprise. Eleanor supposed between the horse she stole and her conversation with Jack, she might have made too much noise to surprise Charles Vane.

He was on his feet in moments, his gaze concerned and questioning. His mouth opened, he had begun to ask how dinner with her father had gone, when she cupped her arms around his neck and forced him down to her level.

Dinner had been a disaster, her entire world in danger of titling on its axis.

There was nothing that could be done if Richard Guthrie decided that Eleanor was unfit for his business. He was her father; he controlled the legitimate contacts and the money.

Tomorrow she could lose all that she had tried so hard to gain, and she would have nothing.

But tonight, tonight she could control this.

Charles would give her this.

He tasted her desperation as their tongues fought, and he didn't need her to name the cause. She clawed desperately at his shoulders as he redirected her kiss, cupping her jaw just so he could feel her shiver. He reached for her bodice, already wondering how much trouble he would be in if he just popped the laces when Eleanor smacked his hand away, hers immediately going to his cock.

She didn't bother with removing their clothing, just ripping at the laces of his pants with one hand while the other pulled his face to hers again, teeth clacking. The pain was minimal. Expected. Eleanor gasped long before she shoved him back onto his bed, digging her fingers into the leather at this waist and pulling just enough to expose the part of him that she needed.

"I just-" Her voice cut off as he grasped her hips to steady her, her eyes watering in anger at her inability at this precise moment to compartmentalize the way she needed to. "I need…"

Charles snaked an arm up her back to anchor her as she slid further onto his lap, already pulling her down for another kiss. Her hiss was lost between his lips when he slid into her, and his thumbs slid over her cheeks to wipe the tears that they would both pretend hadn't come as she angled her hips.

And suddenly Eleanor remembered what it felt like to breathe.

"Not that I'm complaining," Charles ran a hand over the curve of Eleanor's hip, thankful that the night had been damn near stifling and no sheet was necessary. It was hours after she had arrived, and despite the sweat they were pressed together as tightly as their bodies would allow, Eleanor's head to his chest, and her fingers toying with his necklaces. "But do you want to explain to me what that was about?"

Her eyes fluttered, clouding too quickly, and Charles almost resented opening his mouth.

"Did Richard Guthrie demand Nassau to be returned to him?"

Eleanor sniffled, her hand dropping from his throat to run over her face as she sat up slightly. She discovered the impediment of Charles's arm on her back – heavy and unyielding – and resorted to rolling further onto her stomach, her hands pillowing her chin. "I honestly didn't let him get that far," she admitted softly.

Neither smiled.

"Though for all I know, Scott and that message await me when I return to my office."

He didn't need to tell her that that wasn't going to be happening tonight. He wasn't giving her up when her emotions were running this high, when her grasp on control so tenuous.

Instead, he brushed the hair from her eyes and smiled gently. "So what did happen?"

"I do believe that my father is going to try to see me as Missus Christopher Hammond," The thought appealed to none of them, and she could almost swear that Charles had spoken the words 'over my dead body' aloud. "He's the son of one of my father's new partners in England," she explained. "And we all know that alliances are best made by blood."

"And that brought you screaming into my tent?"

Her head shook, along with her top lip, and Charles almost leaned up to kiss the tremble away. "He's redecorating the house." She offered up softly. It was a woman's concern, petty in every sentimental way possible, and Eleanor knew it. She only hoped that Charles wouldn't mock her for it. "Or rather, allowing his new strumpet to."

His eyes tracked every minute movement of her face. This had to do with more than a few pieces of furniture, or a painting.

"She stripped the library."

He'd heard her murmur about it before, her mother's sanctuary. The only room in the entire house that seemed unharmed, unchanged by the Rosario Raids. It had been Eleanor's place to run when she needed to regain herself when he was hunting.

If he hadn't had the privilege of knowing exactly what his anger would construct, Charles would have gone after Richard Guthrie himself.

"It sailed out tonight on the _Psyche_." It was a sloop bound for Savannah. Charles was very certain that he had actually relieved it of its cargo at least once since earning his captaincy. He vaguely wondered how much bloodshed had been involved.

He also considered the calm water of the last few days and the fact that no ship without rowers would be able to gain much speed in this weather.

Eleanor's voice caught him as he ran supply numbers in his head. It would have been far easier to do this when he didn't have a woman on top of him, and most likely if Jack was at hand.

"It's ridiculous, I know." She was taking her cues from the look on his face, the vacant concern that told her that while he understood she was distressed, he could do nothing more than hold her until she felt better. "But I'd left mother's favorite books in there. I thought they were safer there than in the tavern, and I know they're just _things_ ," she took a breath and fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "But they were _hers_."

His hands came up to frame her face, decision made. She was under him before she had a chance to think another thought, and he kissed away her tears as he rose above her, hoping to drive her to exhaustion once more.

* * *

All things considered, with the kind of life Jack led, having the Captain cuff him awake at an incomprehensible hour in the morning wasn't necessarily the worse way that it would have happened.

Unfortunately, the next words out of his mouth didn't make things better.

"I want the men ready to go by first light," Charles was barely dressed, obviously having left Miss Guthrie in his tent to deliver this edict.

"We're three men down," Jack reminded him in a tone that he hoped was diplomatic. "That means we'll have to leave at least 10 ashore." He took a second to calculate the numbers and frowned. "The men may not appreciate those numbers when hunting a prize."

Charles threw a glare across the tent and Jack was trying to decide if that growl was imagined. "The men will do what I fucking tell them to do." And that tone was less than reassuring as well. "And this prize won't be difficult, and it won't be long."

Jack nodded, because really what the hell else was he supposed to do in this situation. "Can I tell them what kind of prize we're after?" Charles was halfway out of the flap by then, and didn't turn around, nor did he answer.

The Quartermaster allowed himself one long moment to curse the captain and his whims, before rolling over, and running his hands up Anne's back.

If he was to start rousing the crew to prepare for their mystery voyage, the least he could do was start with the one most likely to actually kill him.


	5. Part V: Sonnet 116

Title: Million Years Ago  
Category: Television Shows» Black Sails  
Author: And The Moment's Gone  
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T+  
Words: 3,486

Warnings/Spoilers: Written for Tumblr's BSBackstory15. You don't need to know anything.

Official Disclaimer: All Black Sails characters and plots belong to Starz, and Michael Bay, I do not hold stock either the company or the man. Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie, and any other character recognized are NOT mine. The title comes from the Adele song Million Years Ago and I don't own that either.

* * *

It was never a new thing to Eleanor to wake up alone.

She had learned early on that while her bed was considerably more comfortable than the rugs he had piled in his tent, it wasn't necessarily conducive to Charles actually resting. He had never had the opportunity to become accustomed to even the tiny bit of finery that Eleanor had been allowed.

It wasn't even a new thing to wake and discover that Charles and his ship had left the bay. He hunted when the mood struck, and if the mood happened after an extremely long romp, well, neither one of them were much for long goodbyes.

He'd left her body pleasantly aching, and her mind remarkably numb, and she couldn't help the groan that erupted from her lips when her thighs shifted together.

Would there ever be a man that could sate her the same way as Charles Vane?

She decided that it was doubtful, especially after discovering that the had left with a large jug of water, a plate of dried meat, and a change of clothes. Practical as well as prepared

After washing herself, and having breakfast, Eleanor contented herself to lie back down on the myriad of rugs that served as Vane's mattress. She'd been used, often and not entirely gently, during the night, and for once; she didn't care about duty or propriety. If Charles had no issue leaving her in his tent, she would take none with staying there for the bulk of the afternoon. Mister Scott would just have to forgive her absence. They would both agree later that she deserved it, after all.

One of the men, who introduced himself as deckhand Bixby, brought her a light lunch, and then an offering from the tavern for her supper. He was polite, and when she offered thanks he smiled and informed her that he was doing no more than he had been told when the _Ranger_ had shipped out. He and a few others that had been left behind had three others to look after – in various stages of injury – and one more wasn't a bother.

Eleanor had to bite her lip to refrain from asking where Charles had found such a polite pirate for his crew.

She had thought that Hornigold and Flint had cornered the market on those.

Night had come quickly, and she'd chosen to remain in the tent. No one had shown up to claim her, and Mister Scott hadn't sent word that she had been needed. Surrounded by the warmth of one of the most notorious pirate captains – and the comfort of knowing that his men protected her – Eleanor didn't surface again until the morning.

She was awakened later than usual, with Bixby and one of Mister Scott's men on the other side of the tent, arguing as to whether or not the summons should make it to Miss Guthrie.

Having the added benefit of not needed to scramble to dress, Eleanor adjusted her clothing and slid through the flaps, not even bothering to care about the state of her hair. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am." The man standing before Bixby looked terrified, and Eleanor took note that he at least did so without pissing himself. She really wished that Scott would stop hiring boys from the interior hell-bent on making a name for themselves. "But Mister Scott says that it's time for you to return to your duties."

"And Captain Vane said that she's not to be bothered," Bixby's words were punctuated by his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"It's all right, gentlemen." She used that term loosely. "I've already hidden one day away." She pulled her hair into a twist, securing it with a hair stick. "If I recluse myself any longer, the island just may fall into the sea." She patted the messenger and allowed the flap of the tent to fall behind her. "Mister Bixby, thank you for your hospitality." She knew full well that he hadn't exactly had a choice in the matter, "Mister Long, lead the way."

She didn't need the poor boy to tell her that when she'd almost made it out of sight, Bixby was following behind them.

* * *

"Miss Guthrie!"

Eleanor's breath hitched as she turned, forcing a smile firmly in place. If there was ever a night when she had less patience for the rest of the world, it would have been tonight. She'd seen to the reorganizing of one of the south warehouses – because she didn't care what Scott said, she wanted a full count of goods to be put on the next ship and she didn't care about her father's system – and then she'd taken meetings with the captains that required them. The _Walrus_ would be setting out in a day or so, and it relieved her to know that Flint had respected her enough to inform her of this before she passed on information from Tortuga. She'd seen Naft and Lawrence, giving them little scraps and listening to them bitch about lack of fortunes, and the last thing she really needed was to be forced to entertain her father's men at her tavern.

Why couldn't she have gone to spend her night down on the beach?

There was a nod from Mister Gates as she stood tall, and she was more than a little relieved to know that even without her usual protection, she was not truly alone.

The rest of her body relaxed when she realized that a lone Mister Hammond had called her over to the bar. Her father and the rest of the street that was crawling to kiss his ass was nowhere to be seen.

It seemed God truly granted small favors sometimes.

"Mister Hammond," from his place by the doors, Gates wondered if she actually realized that she had given him the slightest of headshakes, to show that his assistance hadn't been needed. Her brow furrowed and he noticed that he wasn't the only one watching her. Maybe the nod hadn't been for him after all. "What brings you to Nassau?"

"I had expressed interest in the appeal of the bay," he gestured somewhere behind her, and Eleanor's mind surveyed the layout and decided that he was motioning to her office, where Mister Scott would be standing guard as he always did. "Your retainer was kind enough to offer to serve as guide after the warehouse was closed for the night."

The part of her brain that scolded Scott for his 'generosity' was the same part that reminded her that she had more or less abandoned him at dinner with her father, and he would have needed to curry favor by any means necessary. And it wasn't as if she had any objection to Christopher Hammond other than her father's apparent desire to see her married and possibly shipped off the island. Neither of which was his Hammond's fault.

"And how do you find the island?" She gestured to one of the serving girls to bring her her own mug and placed herself on the stool next to Hammond. "Is it every bit as terrifying as you expected it to be?"

"Not quite," Hammond's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Your father made it sound like there was whoring and murder in the streets, and filth and refuse everywhere."

 _That's because that's what it looked like when he ran away from here_. "Mister Scott tried to warn him that Nassau was not the same animal he left years ago." Taking the mug, Eleanor dropped a few coins on the counter. "And as for the murder," had she consciously thrown a glance to Mister Bixby on the other side of the room? "There are more than a few ships missing from the bay." Her smile was brighter as she leaned forward. "Perhaps you just caught Nassau at one of her tamer moments."

"Is there such an animal?" The hair on the back of her next stood straight, and Eleanor ignored it as she hummed her confusion. There were too many eyes on her to start getting paranoid now. "A tame Nassau?"

"Some days more than others," she agreed. "Most captains encourage their crews to save their energies for the whores and prize crews." If Hammond was discouraged at her bluntness, he didn't show it. One of the outer doors banged, and a cheer went up as tired, but relatively unharmed men that she recognized from the _Ranger_ came thundering in and shouting for rum and entertainment. "Then there are simply days when there are only quiet moments"

Hammond seemed rapt as some of the more dressed ladies from Noonan's seemed to appear out of nowhere, and men from the _Reliant_ were relieved of their table so a game of card could be started. Jack had appeared out of nowhere – sans Anne – and he handed a bag of coin to Mister Scott as he called for a round for his 'dedicated and prosperous' friends.

The bag was weighed carefully before Scott nodded to the serving girls.

"I take it a 'hunt,'" Hammond's lips tripped over the word, "Was successful?"

"For the _Ranger_ ," Jack tipped his hat in Eleanor's direction, and she felt her breath coming easier. Charles was fine, and she would see him soon. "Hunts are _always_ successful."

" _Ranger_ ," Hammond seemed to test the word on his tongue. "That would be the infamous Charles Vane, wouldn't it?"

As if just saying his name would make the man appear, Charles was suddenly in the doorway, Anne at his side, both in coats that were too long and hot for the summer season. Eleanor's eyes met his, and she allowed for a smile even as she rolled her eyes at his appearance. "Yes," the word was stronger than her last, and she didn't care if Hammond was watching her. "Yes, it would."

He dismissed Anne with a nod, reminding her to keep the men's mouths shut about where they'd been, and he passed a small coin purse to Bixby on his way around the room. The man had done the job he had been left behind to do, and hadn't complained to Jack or Vane when he had been told to do it, so a portion of their prize would be distributed to him equally. Vane was making the long trip around the room to the bar, and he couldn't help cursing his luck that this was where he found her.

The prize may have been great, and the hunt completely worth it in his opinion, but with no actual fight, and two days at sea, he was wound tighter than last time.

"Mistress Guthrie." His voice was low and careful, and he eyed the man seated next to his lover with a wary eye. "I trust you're faring better than the last time I saw you?"

"Much," Bixby would inform Charles that she had slept the day away, and most of the night, only venturing out of camp for food before returning to her duties just this morning. She would be able to avoid his arrogant smirk for a few more hours, at least, at the thought of her seeking refuge in his bed, even if he wasn't in it. "Thank you." There was no teasing in those words. "And I trust that the Guthrie warehouses will see the bounty of your plunder in the morning?"

He matched her smirk, even as he relieved the plate in front of her of a piece of mutton. "The entirety of my hold is yours whenever you're ready to have it delivered." Charles cast a glance to the man beside her. "This one will require your seal alone."

Eleanor almost choked on her ale.

Had Charles Vane just informed one of her father's men that he would only relinquish his prizes to her?

"Business can hold until tomorrow," she took a deep breath, her hand immediately dropping to her side, to run itself against Charles's leg in warning from the cover of her skirt. She was more than well aware of their audience, even if he wasn't. "But might I introduce to you one of my father's partners? He's recently arrived from London to assess the business." Eleanor gestured to Hammond with flourish. "Mister Christopher Hammond, Captain Charles Vane. Of the _Ranger_."

It took everything in Charles not to growl. Two days at sea and an unsatisfying plunder did nothing to make him forget that Richard Guthrie had set his sights on seeing his daughter properly wedded, and most likely to the man in front of him. Although it didn't allow him time to consider why that bothered him so.

"Mister Hammond," Charles was brought back to himself by Eleanor's free hand sliding from his knee to his hip. Why was it that no one noticed this but him?

"Captain Vane." Hammond gulped. It was one thing to discuss meeting some of the pirate captains. It was another thing entirely to stand toe to toe with one. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Scott could read Vane's annoyance from the other side of the room. He cast Eleanor a side eye, which might have had more to do with the fact that she wouldn't stop touching him, and grunted his response.

"Excuse me." Scott slid past Vane and glared sternly at his charge. While the bar and her skirts hid her actions, Vane's face was on clear display, and Scott did not approve of her recklessness. She could flirt and dally when her father's man was out of the establishment. "Mister Hammond, you're going to have to leave soon if you're to make it back to the island before the channel gets rough." When Hammond looked worried, Eleanor rolled her eyes.

Scott's jaw was set, and he managed to sneak in a swat to her knee while their guest was searching his leather wallet for the coins needed to pay for his meal. "We best get going then."

"Your meal is on the house." Eleanor was on her feet next, and her knees buckled when Charles retaliated – by freeing a slither of the tail of her shirt from the hem of her skirt, and running his fingers over the skin of her back. "With my compliments." Had Charles not caught hold of the flesh of her hip, she just might have fallen over.

Was there ever going to be a time when she was immune to his touch?

"Yes," Hammond looked confused for a moment, his eyes moving from his plate to Eleanor, and back again. "Thank you, Miss Guthrie."

Eleanor's heel applied enough pressure on Charles's toe for him to release her, and she offered Mister Hammond her hand. "I hope to see you in the square soon." A nod to her retainer and Eleanor's smile wasn't faked. "Mister Scott will see you to the beach."

"Good evening."

The second Hammond was out of sight; Eleanor's laughter rang through the room. " _You_ are horrible." She all but scolded, finally turning the whole of her body to Charles. She relieved a serving girl of a large mug of rum for Charles and took another sip of her own ale.

"I do believe you started that," Charles caught sight of Anne sliding back down the staircase that led to the upper levels, and nodded precisely. That was one less thing that he had to worry about tonight.

"Yes," Eleanor was trying so very hard to remember her list of reasons as to why she couldn't kiss him right there. "Because the _great_ Charles Vane needs the excuses of a schoolboy." She emphasized the words by pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to stifle another laugh.

He stepped closer to her now, his hand dropping back to her hip, fingers finding flesh. "The _great_ Charles Vane needs to ravish you."

She swallowed instinctively, mug slipping from her fingers.

Eleanor would find time to be thankful later, that she had merely been resting her arm on the counter, fingers holding the glassware hovering over the bar.

"Captain."

"Now, Eleanor."

She glanced around the room, noting that the patronage at the moment was dominantly Charles's own crew and that from the _Walrus_. She'd had Charles's man following her around all day, and had spent the last three nights in his tent. If her father had spies on her, it was likely that they knew of this already. "Upstairs," she slid a sweaty palm over her skirts as their eyes met.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Charles could be chivalrous when the need arose. And he wasn't looking forward to Scott's displeasure if she was judging wrong.

Taking his belt in one hand, Eleanor turned and made pulled him through the kitchen to the back stairs, pausing only briefly to allow him to pin her to the wall on the landing. "I'm not going to live in fear of Richard Guthrie," she let out breathlessly, and he loosened the stays on her bodice and nipped her collarbone. His eyebrow rose, and she smiled. "And the odds of him hiding a man downstairs with your rabble is extremely slim."

This pulled a laugh from Charles's throat, and he picked her up to take her the rest of the way to her room.

* * *

He was gone when she awoke, again. And she stretched her limbs in the comfort of her own room before padding to the standing mirror to assess the damage that the past few days had wrought on her body. There were bruises on her hips, and a rather impressive bite on her torso, but nothing that Vane had caused would require any more care than usual. She could even forgo her kerchief and bodice since the day was already promising to be hotter than the last.

She dressed leisurely, donning her favorite thin blouse, and linen skirts, coin purse hooking to her ever-present keys. Her rings were still on her fingers, and the thick, beaded bracelets that Mister Scott had presented to her when he had decided her ready to spearhead the businesses was still on her wrist. Eleanor honestly couldn't remember if she had worn a necklace the night before, and running her hand over the hollow of her throat, she sincerely hoped if she had, it wasn't one of her favorites. She opted for the chunky golden chain that she had been told was one of her mother's favorites.

Opening the top drawer of her chest, she absently ran her hand over the edge, to find the pouch that contained her mother's jewelry.

Her body shook when her fingers touched linen instead of velvet, and her eyes snapped to the drawer. Please don't let anything have happened to the pouch.

But it was still there, albeit moved slightly to the left.

In its usual place sat a package, dressed with a thin linen finchu, embroidered in leaf, vine, and floral spray. She peeled the cloth back carefully, setting it aside as she turned the gift over in her hands.

It was a plain green cover, scuffed and rough with use, and she brushed her fingers over the gilt border, the sunlight catching it in a way that used to mesmerize her when she was a girl. Eleanor could picture it in a stack, perched haphazardly but with purpose, on the edge of the wooden desk in the middle of her mother's sanctuary. And the world stopped as she sank to the floor, clutching her mother's book to her chest, eyes red.

Half an hour later, when the sobs slowed, and Scott knocked at her door to remind her that she had appointments for the day; Eleanor actually opened the book, flipping through the pages. A flower slid carelessly out from it's secured place on a page, stem still stuck in the bindings, and Eleanor dropped her finger there to hold its place while she examined the flora. It was a yellow elder, something that she actually kept frequently in her room whenever she had time to sneak away and collect them, and one of the kitchen girls had actually brought up a fresh vase sometime the day before.

Looking across the room led her to believe that this very flower had been plucked out of the vase not too terribly long ago.

Her eyes rolled again and she thought of the man who had left her sleeping. Charles Vane could be accused of a great many things. None of them was being a romantic. But she couldn't help her curiosity, flipping the book open to the page her finger still kept, and scanning the words.

She'd been wrong about things before, she decided, pulling herself to her feet and tucking the book and the fichu back into its place in the drawer. Instead of reaching for the pouch, however, she opted for the small wooden box pushed into the corner and the moonstone pendant that lay within.

She had a 'thank you' to make.


End file.
